


Red Bullet

by SaltyStrawberry



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyStrawberry/pseuds/SaltyStrawberry
Summary: From the ashes of the war, the Kiheitai rises once more. Following their path of vengeance, Matako slowly comes to realize what it means to stand among the demons.The becoming of Red Bullet.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for cultural and historical inaccuracies. Do feel free to point them out.

It was late at night, a wretched time when no decent soul was to be found out on the streets. Good souls, along with rotten ones, were gathering in late night bars, drawn to drinks like moths to flames. Either to drown their sorrows or complain about their lives, men drank and wailed, and then drank some more.

Now, this was the time when most of the drunks, even those who could hold their liquor, were out cold, sprawled across the tables and floors in a drunken daze.

But not such men as Matsudaira Katakuriko.

“Another shot!” he commanded.

Men such as Matsudaira Katakuriko could drink till the morning without suffering the effects of drunken haze. For men such as Matsudaira Katakuriko the night wasn’t ending – a new day was merely beginning. Men such as Matsudaira Katakuriko never complained – they only held serious discussions.

 “And so I ask you, friend, when does a war end?” he said to the bartender. “A samurai would say: when the enemy is defeated in a crucial battle. Well my wife won in every fight we had, yet am I defeated? I am not! A tactician would say: when both sides have reached an impasse. Now, that is true in some ways. When my wife caught me with another woman, it may have seemed at first that there wasn’t a way out of the mess. But! a few moments later I managed to talk my way out. I am _still_ undefeated and my wife _still_ wages war against me,” he knocked the glass on the counter. “Another shot, if you please, fill it up!”

 “A politician would say,” he continued, “that a war ends when a peace treaty is signed. Well, I signed my divorce papers; is the war over now? Is it truly over? After courts and endless wrangles, she left the place, left me a daughter and travelled away to begin her life anew. Is it over now? I thought it was. Humiliation, heartbreak, judgment; I’ve been through it all. It was a high price for a bit of quietness at home. Was I happy? I wasn’t. But was I defeated? Maybe I got a little taste of it. But I never gave up. I simply waited, waited for a chance to woo her again, because I still loved that woman more than any other in the universe, and I'd known her long enough to know she felt the same,” he added in one breath.

“And I was enjoying the circumstances as much as possible. Another shot!” he demanded again. “Besides, what else is a man to do? So, I bowed to the circumstances and I gathered my strength, ever preparing myself to strike if the chance should arise. Tell me then, did the war ever end?”

The bartender shook his head in disapproval.

“Why cheat yer wife in the first place, if ya love her so much? You betrayed her, it’s only right she leaves ya.”

“Bodily pleasures! I did as the superior nature commanded, I had no choice! What does it mean to get one’s hands dirty if his heart remains true? What’s flesh to a heart?” Matsudaira waved it off. “I never cheated on her in my heart. I suffered as much as she did.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“And you know what?” he continued, ignoring the comment. “She did come back. Perhaps only to rile me up. She always knew how to put up a good fight, I liked that about her. And the war still went on, even after I had tried so hard to end it. Another shot! And then we remarried! I told you, we’re simply meant for each other. And the fights continue. Tell me then, when do the wars end? Another shot!”

When he drank it up, his demeanour changed. A frown of careful contemplation emerged on his face.

“This matter I’m talking about is, in fact, quite serious.”

Having said that, Matsudaira grabbed money from his pocket and, without bothering to count,  left a generous amount on the counter, leaving the bar soon after.

The night was warm and humid, the kind of weather that made you doubt whether there was enough air to breathe. Yet Matsudaira inhaled the air with relish and started walking as if he had never tasted alcohol in his life. He lit a cigarette as he always did when he needed to contemplate.

Wars and wives. Matsudaira chuckled remembering the analogy. After all, how different were they? Humiliation, heartbreak, judgment; he had been through it all, all for this country.

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disperse into the darkness.

News of most alarming nature had reached him not long ago. There had been a breakout from prison holding Jouishishi in Hagi. The breakout by itself was not a surprise; Matsudaira had expected the patriotic fools to dig their way out of prisons sooner or later. Besides, this had not been the first breakout after the war. The Runaway Kotarou had escaped from the prison several weeks before, leading a faithful group of Joui Patriots in Edo. Lock that guy up as much as you like, he will get out sooner than the first meal is served. At least he made a good sport for those country boys Matsudaira had picked up.

However, the prison in Hagi held a certain group of rebels for which Matsudaira had urged to be confined in Edo. It had been lord Mori who had insisted for them to be imprisoned in Choshu domain, arguing that Edo and Kyoto were already swarming with locked up criminals.

Matsudaira scowled. Lord Mori was not one to insist often and he was not agog over Bakufu either. Although this outbreak did not necessarily prove lord Mori’s involvement in Joui activities, Matsudaira had a hunch he might just sympathise with them a little. Should such sympathies turn into something more, Matsudaira would have an enemy far more dangerous than some men wielding swords.

The breakout from the prison had gone without a drop of blood being spilled. There had been no records from men in charge of the prison, no witnesses of the breakout itself. It all led to one conclusion; those prisoners had not _broken_ out – they had been let out.

The only solid lead the police had were a few accounts from the locals that a young girl had been tied to a cross for carrying weapons, and that two men came to her rescue. Both had been imprisoned and both had escaped on the same day. One of them was of an unknown identity and the other...

A chill ran down Matsudaira’s spine. 

Takasugi Shinsuke. The infamous Leader of Kiheitai. His sword skills were said to be unmatched during the war, but it was his commanding abilities that truly worried Matsudaira. In the war he had turned a laughable group of voluntary warriors into vicious demons, extraordinarily organised and unforgivably ruthless towards their enemies. He had a way of swaying men to his cause and inspiring them to fight with him until the very end.

And in the end he had led his Kiheitai into a massacre. He had left only a handful behind to tend to the wounded, a handful that had been imprisoned shortly after the battle. It was supposed to be over then – the notorious Kiheitai had been disbanded that day.

How convenient it must have been then, for all of them to be reunited in the prison in Hagi after lord Mori had insisted they be transferred there. To simply walk out of prison and raid the city. To rebuild that army of demons. Perhaps there were not many men left, but they were definitely a starter pack Takasugi Shinsuke could do very well with – those were the men of utmost devotion to his cause.

What cause was it, Matsudaira wondered. Was it to wage war on the Amantos? Or maybe the Bakufu? What madness drove them?

After endless bloody battles, after too cruel tactical manoeuvres and after the last damned signed peace treaty, those fools raged on, continuing the war that should by all means have ended a long time ago.

Truly, when do wars end?     

 


	2. Outlaws

 

The sun had long since set, yet the village dogs wouldn't stop barking. An unfamiliar scent from the outskirts had unsettled them. There, a little off the road, a rowdy band made a camp for the night. There was no doubt they were outlaws: the look about them was wild with tattered clothes and unkempt hair as they moved recklessly, their swords glistening in the night. They gathered around a fire, sitting with their arms and legs sprawled on the ground as they chattered lively. Among them sat Kijima Matako. 

Matako kept fidgeting with her gun. She had cleaned it thoroughly twice now and had started to disassemble the other one. With a sharp motion she fed the stout wiper through the barrel, trying to focus. Her supplies were running short. She used up the oil the day before, so she had to do with water and spit now. Only two rounds of bullets left. Should they fight, she wouldn’t have enough to last long.

However, the lack of her weapon supplies was but a minor inconvenience compared to the problem regarding the food supplies. Since they had left Hagi, the only thing Matako remembered eating had been a tasteless rice-ball for breakfast the morning after the departure. Today she ate nothing. Nobody ate. All they had been doing was walking ahead hour after hour, stopping only to sleep.

At the beginning it hadn’t been hard; the fear of government police kept them all on their toes. It was an agreement that went unspoken – there was no going back to prison. But hours had passed, and the fear had dispersed. Then a day had passed, and exhaustion had kicked in. A night had passed, and the hunger had become unbearable.

Since morning Matako’s stomach felt like a stone inside her guts. The feeling had been bearable while was walking, but once she had sat down, her stomach started clenching and growling painfully. Ignoring the pain, Matako reassembled the gun, cocked the hammer, aimed and pulled the trigger. She imagined a bang in place of the click and quickly cocked it again. She needed to become quicker at it.

Her father’s gun was a high quality double-action even if a bit rusty, but the other one was an utter single-action trash needing to be cocked each time she took a shot.

“Oi, oi, little girl, if ya take more care of that gun than yerself, yer not gonna last very long, ya know.”

Matako looked up. A large man walked over to her smiling as he offered her a rice ball. She grabbed it and bit into it. It was completely bland but she savoured it, relishing the feeling of having something edible in her mouth.

“Where’d ya get this?” she asked, taking another bite. The man sat beside her and started eating his own.

“The village. Ume’s bringing more food.”

“Ume? Who’s that, your girlfriend?”

“Ha! Ume’s a guy, one of us,” he said. “You should remember yer comrades’ names, ya know. It’s really embarrassing when a mason asks ya for the deceased’s name and ya make othingg’ up. People start wondering if they’ve come to the right funeral an’ all, it’s really troublesome!”

Matako shrugged. “Well then, until I can remember who’s who, none of ya can die.”

The man looked at her surprised, and burst laughing.

“Yer bossy for a girl,” he clapped on her back, “Fine, but you better have a shitty memory ‘cause there ain’t too many names to remember.”

“Don’t worry, Shigeki-san,” she smiled. “It will take forever.”

“It’s Shiba, you idiot.”

She licked her fingers wishing Ume would come sooner. She tried to pick up pieces of conversations of people around her, but they mixed with one another turning into senseless noise. Then a deep placid voice spoke.

“Henpeita.”

At once everyone had gone quiet. Matako stole a glance towards Takasugi-sama. He was sitting opposite her, his eyes gleaming with firelight even though he was sitting furthest from it. Seeing him leaning back on his arm languidly, Matako wondered if he was as tired as she was.  

The man sitting to her left nodded in understanding and started clearing his throat as he stood up.

“Very well. Is everybody here?”

“Ume ain’t,” said Shiba.

“Who is that?”

“I sent him for food,” Takasugi-sama said. “Somebody will fill him in later.”

For a second, Henpeita-san’s lips thinned in displeasure, but he nodded soon after.

“Alright then, attention please. This time tomorrow we will reach the outskirts of Hofu. Accommodations have already been arranged at a trusted inn. Do not worry about money, all expenses are covered. The next– Yes, Numai-dono?“

Numai, the youngest of the soldiers, lowered his hand behind his head and gave a cheeky smile.

“Say, erm, Strategist-san, when you say ‘all expenses’…well, how do I put this” he glanced quickly at Matako “… Does it include, erm, ladies of pleasure too?”

“Absolutely not. We are feminists, are we not? We do not take advantage of women, nor make them do undignified business,” Henpeita-san answered, giving a grave look to Numai-san. “I suggest you do not interact with anyone but comrades there because the next day we are carrying out an important mission. It would not be wise to sweat before the kill.”

The remark caught everyone’s attention.

“As the capital of Suo province, Hofu is under strict control of Bakufu and not just administratively: after a brutal rebellion had been silenced in blood seven years ago, the military force remained posted here. Naturally, lacking both in tactic and economic importance, the number of soldiers in Hofu has decreased as time went on, so I estimate there would be no more than a hundred soldiers at the present. Quite possibly less.”

“A hundred ain’t a small number,” one of the men commented, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “With a hundred of ‘em and fourteen of us, there’s bound ta be some casualties on our side.”

Matako gulped, astonished at his nonchalance.

“That may be so,” Henpeita-san said, “but numbers do not necessarily decide the outcome, Yuu-dono. The lack of Joui activities in that town gives us two advantages: the false sense of security makes the town on a periphery of Choshu a safe haven for any military official who isn’t competent enough in actual battles. Compared to the government forces in Hagi, these men are unprofessional, lacking in both experience and skill to take us on. The other advantage is, of course, the element of surprise.”

There was a rumble of mocking laughter to Matako’s right.

“What surprise? We’ve been travelin’ fer two days now. We’ve passed by several travellers on the road. You’d be an idiot ta believe the police ain’t onto us already.”

Henpeita-san didn’t seem at all perturbed by the comment. In fact, there was a hint of a self-satisfactory smile playing on his lips.

“Indeed, I would be quite disappointed if they weren’t,” he said. “We have already taken all the necessary precautions. You see, when we left Hagi, we went in direction of north, leading any witnesses there to believe we were headed towards Abu.

“Yeah, and then we went south to Yamaguchi,” the man interrupted.

“Exactly, we took the main route where we could be seen by travellers. Considering the authorities are alert, the travellers will be questioned and give away our destination. However, we never went to Yamaguchi – we took a turn to a far lesser known route towards Hofu. By now the authorities are no doubt confused – by their calculations we should have already reached Yamaguchi. This will lead them to rely on witnesses’ statements about us going north, since it would still take time for us to reach Abu to north. The authorities are now in a dilemma – we might still be traveling north or we might be lying low at the outskirts of Yamaguchi. Naturally, rather than disperse the forces in two directions, they will wait for us to give away our position. I expect they have reinforced their troops in Yamaguchi, but Hofu remains unprotected. Therefore, other than its numbers, Hofu does not have much of an advantage over us.”

The crowd of twelve began murmuring animatedly, some even clapping at the explanation. The prospects were in their favour. Matako felt herself relax, her worry dissolving into determination. Once more she held out her rusty single-action and cocked the hammer.

“D’ya think it’s gonna be like Hagi, Officer-san?” she asked, pointing the gun at his head.

He looked at the gun unimpressed and lowered her hand.

“It will be nothing like Hagi.”

Matako frowned in confusion, “Why not?”

 “In Hagi we were not in control of the raid. On the contrary, that ruckus we created was only to confound the authority in order to escape more efficiently,” he explained. “In Hofu we are going to dictate the pace and raid with a purpose.”

Matako nodded, although she did not quite understand what he meant. She had learned long ago that it was better staying smart in silence than voicing your stupidity.

“Gentlemen, there is still a plan to go over.”

People hushed at each other and Henpeita-san waited patiently for the noise to cease before he went on.

“The mission consists of two parts. First is the raid, and the other is getting supplies. We will divide into two groups.” he talked slowly, pausing every now and then to see if everyone understood. “The first group, with Bansai-dono in charge, will leave for the town centre in the morning in order to make preparations for the raid. The raid has to start at midday. Then, the other group will take advantage of the chaos to collect the supplies. Once this is done, we will all meet at the East entrance to Hofu. Now, as for– ”

“Shiba, you goddamn shameless bastard! Next time I see ya munching my food yer gonna lose yer tongue!”

Everyone turned toward a bulky man who was shouting and fuming in anger. Matako recognized him. Though he was not nearly as large as Shiba-san, he looked not only capable, but quite ready to take the man down. Nobody paid any mind to his rage though – gazes were drawn to the promising sacks in his hands as he came over, grunting and kicking Shiba not at all gently.

But for all his fuming, Ume was smiling from ear to ear.

“We are having a feast tonight!” he exclaimed happily, opening the sacks. As soon as the food was out in the open, a dozen hands rushed to reach it.  There was less food than Matako had hoped for; mostly vegetables and fruit, some of which was dried, a handful of rice crackers and a few rice balls, no doubt just as bland as the one she ate. Matako settled for two rice crackers, half a tomato and, noticing Takasugi-sama taking one, she reached for a plum.

Beside her, Henpeita-san cleared his throat loudly.

“As I was saying-“

“Pass that cucumber, Numai.”

“Wanna trade for that rice ball?”

“Are there any strawberries?”

“I thought you liked peaches!”

“Are there any tomatoes left?”

Matako couldn’t help feeling bad for Henpeita-san. Food that was disappearing at a rapid pace and Henpeita-san had yet to touch it.

It was not long before the cheerful murmur was interrupted, this time by the leader himself.

“Silence.”

His voice was quiet but commanding. Another series of hushes followed and Henpeita-san cleared his throat yet again, this time with more dignity.

“As I was saying earlier, we need to divide into two groups – the group for supplies consisting of four people, out of which two needs to be able to carry heavy loads, and the group for the raid with everyone else.”

“What’re we raiding?” Ume-san asked.

“You’re raidin othing’” Numai-san said, “You’ll be carryin’ the loads.”

“We’re raiding the next town,” Yuu-san said, cuffing Numai behind his ear.

Ume sat up, surprise written over his face as he faced Takasugi-sama. “You don’t mean Hofu?”

Takasugi-sama didn’t say anything. He kept a firm gaze on Ume, his face betraying no emotion. Only the flickering firelight was being mirrored in his eyes.

Henpeita-san replied in his stead.

“Is Hofu perhaps your hometown?” he asked warily.

 “Hell no! I spit on that town and its people!” Ume-san truly did spit, nearly on the man beside him. “Murdered Renji’s whole family when they tried to seek refuge there. He was an inconsolable wreck for a month!”

Matako didn’t know who Renji was. She quickly glanced over the comrades’ faces, but no one seemed to respond to the name.

“Commander,” Ume-san called, his tone pleading “what happened that day? How’d he die?”

No one looked at the Commander, not even Ume-san, even though he was the one asking.

Takasugi-sama did not respond at once; there was a faraway look in his eye as he stared at the embers. Just as Matako was beginning to think he would not respond, Takasugi-sama tilted his head slightly upwards.

“Renji was with me on the front lines,” he began, closing his eye “along with Kyodou and Souji. Kyodou lost his arm to a blast as we were charging. He bled to death. Souji took a hit aimed at me. Renji took out a battle vehicle by himself at the cost of his life.”

He paused and started tossing the plum in his hand. “Out of three divisions, two were wiped out on the battlefield. The remains of the third were beheaded after I got captured… Your brother was among them, Hoshino.”

Next to Yuu, the man seethed painfully. Matako recognised him – he was the one with an injured leg. She had noticed him hobbling on the road, though he never had any trouble keeping up.

“Died a dog’s death in the end” Shiba-san commented bitterly.

“No,” Takasugi-sama cut in. “They died a samurai’s death.”

He took a bite of the plum. “It’s sour.”

***

They continued their road at dawn. Although their pace was quicker than the day before, Matako had no trouble keeping up with it; the faster she walked the less she shivered in the morning chill. The golden sun was slowly breaking free from the faraway sea and dew was glistening on the wild poppies by the road. It was not long before her comrades’ tongues were loosened with jokes and songs. The promise of the shelter and the food was keeping them in high spirits. Numai-san did not manage get the man with a shamisen to play a tune, though the latter did whistle a few familiar melodies.  By late morning, even Matako had joined the merry singing.

“Nobody told me it was a songbird we’d picked up in Hagi!” Ume-san had complimented her, patting her back good-naturedly as he started a new tune.

They did not stop to rest that day. By the time they had reached the inn nobody was singing anymore. The men leaned on the walls and some lied on the dusty ground. The heat was unrelenting. They had drunk the water that Ume-san brought from the village, but it wasn’t enough. Matako’s tongue was as dry as dust and her head was pulsing in pain. With legs as heavy as lead, Matako walked towards the entrance, wanting to cool off in the shade.

It was a small, shabby inn with not enough rooms for the fourteen of them, as the inn keeper was firmly stating.

“Six rooms, of which two are occupied,” she said briskly, not hiding her irritation as she went over the list of guests. “The arrangements were for no more than eight people. How am I supposed to fit fourteen people into four rooms?”

Matako watched from the entrance as Henpeita-san was trying to work out a compromise, wishing nothing more than to lie down and rest her feet. She was not the only one; the men who were back from their business in the bushes were now pacing impatiently.

Numai-san grunted next to Matako. “What’s taking so long? Didn’t he say arrangements had already been made?”

They were called in some fifteen minutes later, the old lady eyeing each man suspiciously.

“Which one of you is the leader?” she asked.

It was none of them. Takasugi-sama was still outside, leisurely coming out from the bushes. The man with the shamisen beckoned him from the entrance.

“Make haste, make haste!” the innkeeper called. “Some leader he is, walking like he has all the time in the world! Not gonna lead you lot very far at this pace, is he? Look at him, dreamier than a girl in love! Nothing good ever comes out of dreamy people, I say. Too great ambitions and too little effort. Come on, follow me, boy.”

Matako gaped at the innkeeper’s disrespect but Takasugi-sama followed the woman without a word, never changing his demeanour. She was about to protest, but a large hand gripped her shoulder firmly.

“Do not be rash, Matako-chan.”

Matako looked over her shoulder in disgust.

“Call me Matako- _chan_ again and you’ll find a new hole in yer head, ya pedophile.”

“A feminist, Matako-san, not a pedophile,” Henpeita-san said.

Nevertheless, she obeyed. Takasugi-sama did not seem to be fazed by the comments, after all.

It took some time before the whole crowd was sorted into their rooms respectively. Takasugi-sama was supposed to have a room for himself, but agreed to share with three people. The rest settled into the other two. Matako was left standing by the reception table confused, waiting for instructions after the innkeeper had refused to let her follow her comrades.

Finally, the innkeeper led her to the room at the end of the hall. It was as small as the one Takasugi-sama was staying in, though the emptiness made it seem a little larger. Everything was clean – the floor, a little wooden table by the wall, the closet – and Matako, not having washed for days, felt completely out of place.

“Alright, you’re safe now,” the innkeeper said as she took a look down the hall before sliding the door shut. She hurried to Matako and gripped her shoulders, her wrinkly face tight in worry.

“Tell me child, what happened?” she asked in a quiet but urgent voice. “Were you kidnapped? Were you sold? Where are your parents?”

Startled, Matako shook her head at every question thrown at her.

“Do you know these men?” the innkeeper continued in whispers, glancing at the door every now and then. “Have they threatened you? Have they tricked you? Have they laid hands on you?”

Matako kept shaking her head, clutching the guns in the holsters. She did not know why the innkeeper was so upset, but the questions made Matako uneasy. She needed to sort this out.

“They’re my comrades,” she managed to say with a polite smile.

The innkeeper shook her head. “You don’t have to pretend. I will not let anything happen to you. Tell me, where did they pick you up from?”

Matako was aware that the truth was a risky option. The rumour about their escape had probably reached many ears. The innkeeper was most likely aware they were outlaws, but she probably didn’t know their identities. Matako could not allow her suspicions to grow, lest she alarmed the police.

She needed to think quickly and come up with a lie.

“I’m just travelin’ with ‘em,” Matako said. “Henpeita-san is my uncle.”

The innkeeper covered her mouth with her hand, aghast.

“You would go that far to lie!” she closed in. “They… they haven’t _shamed_ you, have they?”

“What? No! Didntcha hear me? I’m travelin’ with my uncle!”

“Takechi-san doesn’t have any siblings, you poor thing.”

“Oh,” Matako said, stumped. “He adopted me!”

“Child, stop this,” the innkeeper was looking at her with pity. “There is no use lying to me. Are you traveling with those men willingly?”

Matako nodded eagerly, making the woman narrow her eyes in suspicion.

“Do you know who those men are?”

Again she nodded, glancing at the direction of their rooms, wishing to get out of here.

“Then you should know that they’re up to no good,” the innkeeper said.

Matako wanted to object, but she remained still, remembering she was not to act rashly.

“Have they done anything to hurt you? Tell me the truth.”

“They’d never hurt me,” Matako said firmly. She was not certain of that when she left Hagi, but these past few days had truly convinced her; not one man had showed any discontent with her, or treated her unkindly. “They’re my comrades.”

The old innkeeper snorted in dissatisfaction, but yielded in the end.

“It will be a warm night,” she said, sizing Matako up, head to toe. “I’ll wash your clothes – just leave them in the hamper when you go to take a bath. There’s fresh linen in the closet, along with a futon. There are other guests here; if they ask you anything, tell them you’re my cousin’s daughter. Those ‘comrades’ of yours are already too suspicious, huddling together in three rooms. Those things at your sides,” she pointed at Matako’s guns with a disapproving frown, “make sure you hide them.”

“I should never have let you lot stay here,” she muttered as she slid the door open. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

“Why’d ya let us then?” Matako blurted out.

Seeing the innkeeper tense as she turned around, Matako realised what a foolish mistake she had made. Not only did she sound ungrateful, but to question the benefactor’s actions was insolent.

The words were out, however, and she could not take them back.

“My husband was a hot headed Joui Patriot,” the old woman confessed with a resigned sigh.  “When he got captured and imprisoned, I asked Takechi-san to pull some strings in the Bakufu and get him out of there. Since then I’ve been indebted to him.” She sniffed and shot her an overbearing look. “Go wash before the dinner gets cold!”

 

As a child, Matako loved to go to public bathhouses. Her mother took her there often despite the many inconveniences her daughter would cause. Matako, being a lively girl, used to run around the slippery tiles, splash the water at her friends and toss the towels, earning much scolding from her mother and annoyed looks from other ladies. “She might look like a girl, but she’s got a boy’s antics!” the women would reproach. Bath was fun – and getting clean was just a convenient bonus. Stepping into the bathing area now, Matako realized how unappreciative she had been then.

 Matako had hoped the bathroom would be empty – that way there would be no suspicious glances at the poor state of her body.

Alas, as soon as she entered, she was greeted by a tall woman whose long face reminded her of a fish with big eyes permanently facing different directions. The woman was a chatterbox; she introduced herself at once, proudly pointing out that very soon she would no longer be Tamatsuki Isa, but _Takeda_ Isa, and continued praising her future husband who had gotten a job in this city.

“He came here last week to prepare the house before we move in, isn’t he thoughtful? And what a good house he’s chosen too! It’s not overly large but it’s elegant and close to his workplace. He is so humble! When I asked him why he didn’t pick a more expensive house he told me: ‘Isa-san, we should be practical. People say government officials are greedy: I want to prove them wrong.’ He is right, of course, but even so I’m worried his co-workers might look down on him…”

Matako did not pay much attention. She focused on scrubbing her skin until it became red making up for all the days she did not have a chance to do so. The soap lacked fragrance, but the sponge cleaned well. When she started wriggling in attempt to scrub her back, Tamatsuki-san, soon-to-be Takeda-san, offered to help.

“My, my, but you are quite dirty,” she commented offhandedly. “Say, what brings you to Hofu?”

Matako stilled, carefully choosing her words.

“I’m visiting my relatives,” she replied. It was not what the innkeeper told her to say, but the innkeeper’s plan was shit – how could Matako claim to know her, when she didn’t even know her name?

“Oh? Where do they live? We might be neighbours!”

She bit her lip. It would be rude to keep quiet and foolish to make up a location. But what did it matter? It’s not like Takasugi-sama planned on staying in Hofu anyway.

“Close to the market,” she answered, and added to be more convincing: “My uncle sells candy.”

“I must try some soon then,” the woman giggled, finishing scrubbing Matako’s back. Matako washed her head before she went to soak, hoping the Takeda-san-to-be would find something other to jitter about. Although she did not usually mind casually chatting with strangers, Matako was not in the mood to indulge the curious woman.

Thankfully, Tamatsuki-san started talking about her trip. Matako was surprised that she was from Bakan – the city was under heavy attack several years ago. Her trip sounded fairly uneventful, but Tamatsuki-san seemed determined to describe it in detail.

Matako tried to follow, but her mind kept drifting off. The bath was rejuvenating, warm water softening her skin and relaxing her limbs. The innkeeper’s words kept echoing in her mind. ~~~~

She had no idea how the old lady had come to know Henpeita-san, but he had certainly made a useful acquaintance. Matako was surprised the thought hadn’t crossed her mind before – it was no secret that he was a Bakufu official, and he had enough craftiness and influence to orchestrate a breakout of a Joui Patriot as important as Takasugi-sama. It made her wonder; if her mother had had someone like Henpeita-san to turn to, would there have been a chance for him to escape? There was no use thinking about what would have happened, and this time not even Henpeita-san could bring him back.

A sudden thought struck her. If Henpeita-san was influential enough to bail people out of prison, he must have had some really good connections within the Bakufu. He might even know who it had been that had convicted and beheaded her father.

Matako inhaled sharply, turning her focus to the chattering woman.

“… half-way there, we heard news of the outbreak from Hagi and I got so scared! Say, where did you say you were from?”

“Yamaguchi,” Matako lied. She had never been to Yamaguchi.

“ _Nee_ , good thing you left! It’s so dangerous to travel these days, no? Say, you’re not traveling alone, are you?”

Matako shook her head, but didn’t elaborate further.  

“Even so, it would do well if you had a blade for protection. My soon-to-be husband – oh how delightful that sounds! – he often says that women rely too much on men. It’s true,” Tamatsuki-san proudly nodded, “What if there was no man to protect you? It’s a horrid thought, but one must be prepared for everything. The times we live in are dangerous, you know.”

The woman leaned with a conspirative smile: “It’s always good to have a pin in your hair and a blade in your obi.”

“My dad gave me a gun,” Matako said. Tamatsuki-san raised her eyebrows, but she was not disapproving.

“Your father is wise,” she smiled. “My father would’ve never allowed it. When I was thirteen, he told me…”

Did it matter though? She remembered the look Takasugi-sama gave her when she first wanted to join. Matako sank a little.

All the same, now that a chance was just a question away, it would be a shame to waste it. The day she was left alone in this world, she decided the revenge was her duty to fulfil. The gun her father gave her kept her bound to it.

Matako bit her lip, unable to decide.

“…and then Takeda-san told me, there under the moonlight – “

“Say, Tamatsuki-san,” Matako interrupted, barely aware that the woman was still talking. “If Takeda-san was killed tomorrow, what would you do?”

The moment she looked up, Matako regretted the question. For the first time this evening the woman fell silent, her mouth wordlessly opened. Her strange eyes almost found focus as they widened in shock. In a second she laughed it off nervously, but the impudence of the question did not seem lost on her.

“My my, what an odd question! I hope I have better luck than that,” she said.

Quickly, Matako apologised, but the damage had been done. The woman ceased to chatter happily, and rather avoided her gaze as she kept a safe distance from her.

Silence did not suit her.

***

 

In the end Matako decided to inquire about her father. It couldn’t hurt – if Henpeita-san had know her father and where he had been imprisoned, she would have a clue to the murderer. If not, she had nothing to lose. Whatever the answer, Matako was determined not to go against Takasugi-sama’s orders.

The dinner for the Kiheitai members was served separately – instead of going to the dining room, they were to eat in the second guestroom. Matako, however, was supposed to dine in the dining room, lest she aroused any suspicious behaviour. She wanted to protest at first, seeing two old geezers there, but thought better of it when she noticed the other guests.

Takasugi Shinsuke was sitting at the table peacefully, finishing a bowl of miso soup. He was not alone; sitting across him was the man with the shamisen. His hair loose and his instrument absent, Matako nearly failed to recognise him.

“T-Takasugi-sama, m-may I join?”

She asked him, and when he nodded slightly, Matako sat next to the other man. She ate in silence, overwhelmed with the Commander’s presence.

“Is the food to your liking?”

Matako turned to her left and nodded at the man beside her with her mouth stuffed. The truth was she was too ravenous to properly taste it. It was better than everything she ate in the last two months.

“See?” the man turned to Takasugi-sama “It’s decent enough for most people.”

“I never said the food was bad,” Takasugi-sama replied, “only that no inn should ever lack Yakult.”

“What’s Yakult?” Matako asked, taking another mouthful.

“It’s a beverage that apparently only the heavenly kings drink, I daresay,” the guy beside her said.

Takasugi-sama threw at him one of his chopsticks, but the man caught it with a flick of his hand.

“Next one goes to your eye,” Takasugi-sama promised. The other guy smirked in bemusement. He might have even provoked him to do it if Henpeita-san hadn’t interrupted.

“Gentlemen, no ruckus in this inn, please.”

Takasugi-sama took a sip of tea, sparing just a glance at Henpeita-san as the latter sat down waiting for his meal. Matako did not expect the two of them being friendly with each other but there was clearly some tension between them.

“Matako-san, are the accommodations to your liking?”

Matako shrugged, having not thought much about it. “It lacks Yakult,” she said, causing the man next to her snort lightly, “but it sure beats sleeping on the road.”

Henpeita-san nodded thoughtfully. “Yakult is unfortunately not yet in the wide spread production. When we come to a larger city I’m sure you will be able to purchase it.”

She wondered when exactly that would be. As they walked, Matako often found herself thinking about the destination. She never doubted Takasugi-sama had a clear path in his mind, but she was curious to what end would he lead them? It was Hofu tomorrow, but where after that? She did not dare to ask.

“Shinsuke-dono, I meant to ask you before, are there any special requests for the supplies?”

“I thought you already had a list,” Takasugi-sama said coldly.

“I was thinking of personal requests, perhaps?”

Takasugi-sama did not indulge him with an answer. When silence became uneasy, he stood up and simply walked away.

“Are you still arguing?” the man beside her spoke the moment Takasugi-sama was gone.

Henpeita-san hummed in displeasure, earning a sharp look from the innkeeper as she brought him his meal.

“His recklessness is hard to adapt to,” he admitted.

“His recklessness is what makes him interesting, I daresay,” the man countered, downing his tea as he stood up to leave. “He could use a smoke. You should add kiseru to that list of yours.”

It was getting late; the innkeeper had started cleaning up and the old geezers had already retired to their rooms. There was no sign of the woman Matako had met in the bath. Matako hoped that she at least got her meal in the guestroom. That reminded her:

“Henpeita-san –”

“Please,” he raised his hand, “Takechi-chan.”

“No way, that’s just wrong.”

“Takechi-kun then.”

“Takechi- _san_ ,” she said, disliking the familiarity, “I heard you got the innkeeper’s husband out of jail once.”

Takechi-san glanced towards the innkeeper. He did not seem all that surprised that Matako knew that. Then again, his face did look permanently fixed in one expression.

“It was a sad story,” he said as he went back to eating. “I know Yuma-san from school. She married a fool who was too busy being a Joui Patriot to earn honest money, but she would not give up on him. He was the kind that barks loud, but never bites. By the time Yuma-san asked me to pull some strings, he was already sick. One might say he was let free to die at home.”

He sounded neither regretful nor bitter as he said it. It was a sad story but often heard. Matako looked at the old innkeeper with pity, recalling the stories she had heard on the streets. Wives often begged the jailers, and families were all too ready to bribe them, and yet it would be in vain more often than not. Once in prison – forever chained, her father used to tell her. It was easy if it was a week or two. But month or beyond, it changed the person from the inside.

“Say, Takechi-san, if you pull strings like that, you must know lot of people in the Bakufu.”

His nodding encouraged her to press further.

“Did you ever hear about my father? Kijima Matabe,” she added quickly, clenching her fist in anticipation.

Takechi-san stiffened for a moment before reaching for a piece of sashimi.

“I know of him,” he confessed, “though I never had the pleasure to meet him in person.”

“I knew it!” Matako exclaimed, slamming her fist on the table. “So, what do you know?”

“Matako-san, control yourself.” he gave her a reproachful look as he wiped the spilt sauce. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Everything! Who was it that imprisoned him, where and by whom was he executed, did anybody try to prevent it, tell me everything.”

Matako could hardly keep calm. Her insides were clenching with excitement as she waited for the answer. She had feared the answer just as much as she wanted it. What if the enemy was too far out of her reach? What if he was closer than she imagined?

“You seem more interested in the executioner than your father himself,” Takechi-san noticed. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you in this respect. Kijima Matabe, granted, was very influential among people. He was a retainer of lord Mori who often spoke highly of him. There was, however, a rumour that they had a fall out a little before Matabe was convicted.”

Lord Mori. The name sounded familiar somehow but she could not put a face to it. “Could it be that-“

Takechi-san shook his head before she finished. “Even if the rumour is true, the dispute did not affect their relationship. In fact, when Matabe was charged with treason, lord Mori was the only one who stood by him. He was absolutely livid about the accusation.”

“Oh,” Matako said, a little disappointed that the only lead slipped through her fingers. “But he was falsely accused, right? Somebody had to set it up?”

“Falsely accused? It is a possibility, not a certainty. Whether he was or not conspiring against the Bakufu, I do not know.”

“My dad ain’t no traitor,” she insisted.

“Neither are men who fought for the country alongside, yet are branded as such,” Takechi-san said.  “Treason has become a convenient excuse to get rid of the thorns at the higher-ups’ side. Perhaps he had started voicing his doubts about the politics. Perhaps he got on someone’s bad side. The factors are innumerable,” Takechi-san wiped his mouth and looked her hard in the eyes. “Now then, what is the reason for this questioning?” he acquired.

Matako shrugged. “You said to me that I ought to take my revenge by myself. I’m trying to find the culprit.”

“I see. And what makes a culprit?” he asked. “Your father’s killer is the one who beheaded him. His killer is the jailor who could have smuggled him out. Or perhaps the head of the prison? Maybe the judge who passed the sentence. Or the lords who hold power in the court? The one who set it up? Then again, at the same time that person could also have been manipulated by someone else? How will you judge?”

Matako did not know how to answer that. She had never thought about it that way. She did not understand politics or the system. The enemy had been the country itself, because she did not know who else to blame. Now Takechi-san presented several and Matako found herself just as helpless.

“I don’t know,” she admitted in defeat.

Takechi-san smiled. “You do not have to,” he said comfortingly. “Not yet. And, as it is my duty as your _senpai_ in this domain, I will help you in finding your answer to that question.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is welcomed!


End file.
